


all to the best

by Anonymous



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Brother/Brother Incest, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting, M/M, Midquel, Sibling Incest, fuck JKR though, not between the two of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Midquel tothe firstandsecondin the HPomegeverse setting. Set in Atli's seventh year.
Relationships: Torgrim/Atli (Vinland Saga)
Kudos: 4
Collections: Anonymous





	all to the best

**Author's Note:**

> Author does not condone being JK Rowling **at any time**. @vincestsaga on twitter for more brocontent 👍

A few men make it into the pub's WC before Atli can close the distance and get there himself. He has to wait for them to come back out before he finally gets up and hurries in. Probably getting a few looks. Everyone knows why you go rushing into the WC in this pub.

It doesn't matter much if he gets looks. His brother sent him a little fox tail that turns his hair red and shaggy as long as it's touching skin. It's on an armband that goes under your robes and stays hidden there. Torgrim got it through work. He picks up a lot of things like that now.

His back hits the door about a second after it closes behind him. He knows the smell and the warmth enveloping him, and the way the arms squeeze just to the limit of comfort. And the tongue down his throat. That's become very familiar in the year since he presented and let his brother mate him.

"D'you have any idea how many men I've nearly jumped, hanging around waiting for you?" Torgrim asks, pulling back from his mouth but pressing him harder into the door. "I smelled you the second you came in the front door, of course."

"How could I come in while they were all piling in here?" Atli squeezes back as Torgrim starts rubbing against his neck, covering up the early signs of his heat that are starting to waft out. "You'd do this with every last one of them watching."

"Fuck, don't tempt me. I've got to get through dinner."

"Do you?" Atli lifts his chin up, letting his scent gush.

Torgrim snorts like a dog, gives his waist one last squeeze, then pulls him away from the door. "No going hungry on your heat. You could be laid out flat for a full day. And it makes you less fertile."

He spells Atli's robes clean before they go out. He still shows off like that even though the tracker's been off his wand since he was sixteen. Atli, who's had one put back on his, thanks to a little incident with one of the packages his brother has him delivering in the school now, doesn't see how dirty his robes could have got unless people are pissing right on the door, but he lets Torgrim spin him around to do the back and sides. It's the closest he'll get to being manhandled for another hour.

"Great idea, these men's toilets," Torgrim says thoughtfully, as they exit. "Wish more places had these."

There are a couple of other places in town that have men's and women's toilets instead of Alphas, Omegas and Betas. Usually the smaller ones without the space for three rooms. But it's basically telling everyone that the staff's all right with a certain amount of hanky-panky inside said toilets. There's a stern sign on the wall, announcing that this one has wards up to prevent silencing charms being used. A _certain_ amount is tolerated, though. Not enough for their purposes, but enough for a quick hello.

"How're they feeding you?" Torgrim looks him up and down as well as he can, standing by his side at the bar, elbows down and one ankle hooked over the other. Not his mate right now. His brother, as long as they're in public.

"Fairly well. You remember." Atli takes a bite of his sandwich. Standing up to eat feels so much more grown-up. The lights are directly over their heads, but not bright enough to make the food look unappetizing. "Always tastes better in town, though."

"Tastes even better out in the world." Torgrim gives him a great big clap on the back—the kind that he's fortunately used to by now, or he'd be choking on his roast beef and horseradish. "You can go anywhere and pick whatever place you like. Everything on the menu, if it's what you're in the mood for."

"Yeah, you haven't shut up about that since you graduated."

"You don't want a salad too? Something light?"

"Fuck, no." Torgrim's idea of proper heat safety seems most closely related to what mothers tell their kids about swimming. Less closely related to reality, where Atli gets all the salad he needs back on Durmstrang grounds. "You think I came out here to spend my money on salads?"

"My money," Torgrim says, _sotto voce_ , and Atli digs an elbow into his ribs. He's been earning this, delivering those packages. Some of them bite.

"I'll take my time with _your_ money, then." Just because his brother's technically funneling a percentage of his salary to him, and just because he gets paid before he delivers the packages— "One mead, please. Make it green."

"Not too long," Torgrim says, a warning note creeping into his voice—even lower now, because it needs to be, as the bartender hands him his mead in a chipped glass. The cozy kind of chipped. His scent must be getting stronger. At some point tonight, other Aphas will start picking up on it.

Atli drinks, slowly, and watches the Alpha at a corner table twisting his Omega's arm as he eats. Must be impatient. Alphas get like that sometimes.

He's not the only one looking. A quick glance shows most of the Alphas in here are watching from the corners of their eyes, at least. You can't always tell who's what at a glance, but this is a tell. Some are thinking _I'd treat you better_ , some are thinking they wouldn't let a disobedient Omega sit there and do as he pleases with just a little arm twisting. Most of them are turned on to varying degrees. Atli's thinking he's glad it's not him, and he's more than a little turned on.

The Alpha looks to be in his forties, and the Omega in his twenties. Maybe the Alpha's first mate died. Or maybe he's impatient because he had to wait all this time to find any mate at all. He's not built like Torgrim is. Not every Alpha can be. Atli's pretty sure he was proud of that even when they were just brothers.

From the pub to the inn is a simple right down the town's main street, then a left across the street and down a more discreet alleyway. When your dining partner was your older brother, it's a left, followed by a series of lefts of assorted lengths, then a right, another right, a left, a diagonal right through an outdoor marketplace, a regular right, and from there on through the door.

He waits, and drums his fingers, trying not to worry. Torgrim's always a few minutes slower to follow the same route, mirrored. Atli checks the waiting area for anyone he knows, aware as always that the fox's tail against his skin only changes his hair, not his face. They're not exactly big names in town, but there are only so many boys at Durmstrang and a pair of brothers close in age do stick out.

"Hey."

The arm at his waist is familiar, but the face—the face is pale and pinched and dark-haired. Atli starts back from the strange blend, and from the flat, empty smell. Even Betas aren't supposed to smell like that. Like something that was burned away long ago.

"Keep your voice down, it's just me." Torgrim's stranger's face is centimeters from his, and Atli feels his body go full Omega. Quiet and compliant like a stunned rabbit. All he can think is _it must be the face_. "Come on, I got the room already."

They always take the stairs here, and Atli moves in his brother's wake with a numbness in his head keeping him from wondering what the lift's like, as he usually does. He's never taken one, not even over the summer. Torgrim always says they'll just start screwing right there if they take it. He's never been close enough to see if there's a sign forbidding Omegas from riding when they're in heat.

In the stairwell, Torgrim takes a quick peek upwards and then pulls something out from up the sleeves of his robe. "Take a look. I nicked a few from this huge shipment we did last month. They were all the same face. Can you believe it? There must've been thousands."

Atli stares dumbly at the red sphere. A balloon. With something printed on it. It's the face his brother's wearing, roughly—not moving like a photograph but unsettlingly still like a stick figure drawing.

"By huge I don't mean we were carrying all that much. They're just little empty balloons, you know. But when you think about how they'd have to be used, it must have been ten years' worth. I suppose they could be organized crime, then they'd be spreading them out across cities. It takes care of smell too, for whoever blows it up. Did you notice?"

"I noticed." It's easier to look at the face on the balloon than on his brother. "So they've solved heats, then. Why are these black market?"

"They don't make ‘em for Omegas. Something about the smells is different. Besides—" the balloon pops like a gunshot in a Muggle movie— "it doesn't vanish the smell. Just stores it up."

Atli staggers as the scent of his Alpha floods the stairwell. Floods _him_. He has the brief impression that his head's being held down to the freshly plowed earth.

"You see? Dangerous." Torgrim's real face beams at him through the cloud of scent, and Atli grabs his own head to deal with the brain freeze. "Oh, what's your problem?"

"Fuck you," Atli tells him as the discomfort starts to fade. "Don't go ordering me around just because I'm on my heat."

"Who's ordering who around? I went to some trouble so I could surprise you in the lobby for once!" Torgrim starts to deflate like the shrunken red balloon in his hand, despite his best efforts to be righteously offended.

"I feel like I went from sober to hungover in under two minutes. Don't use those again. I'd rather go on suppressants."

Completely crushed now, Torgrim looks down at the pathetic remains of the balloon. "Well, don't bite my head off. They must not test these with Omegas around. No one said anything about it messing with you."

"It was just the face," Atli says, his irritation starting to ebb. His brother hasn't really tried to hurt him since they were four and three and Torgrim closed a drawer on his head. "It didn't feel like we were us anymore. Like I was one of those Omegas that gets led around on a string."

Torgrim wheels about, looking for a dark corner to hurl the remains, then pauses. "No, wait, they warned us about dropping them. They're contraband. I didn't think this far ahead, I thought you'd like it more. Hey, not yet."

"Shut up," Atli tells him, grabbing his other arsecheek. "Why's your wand on the wrong side? Here, just shred it." They both get tolerable results with each other's wands. Not unusual for siblings.

"I had the balloon in my right pocket." Torgrim stands with his arms lifted uncertainly as if Atli's going to check his robes. The balloon lies shredded into pieces that are too small for the little black marks to be recognized as a face—even if the pieces aren't as even as they'd be with Atli's wand.

Torgrim doesn't do silly shit like this very often. Atli has to resist the temptation to milk it. He feels almost like an Alpha must, with a helpless Omega looking to him for guidance.

Lucky there's another temptation, even stronger. "Come on," he says, taking his brother's arm. "Forget it. My heat's coming on."

Torgrim moves slowly with him at first, but by the time they're halfway up the stairs he's the one leading Atli by the arm, the balloon forgotten in the dust. Atli almost has trouble keeping up, his legs still weak from the smell of Alpha.

"Good job I got to you first," Torgrim says in his ear, once they're through the stairwell door, moving through the hallway as fast as they can while still looking ambiguous, possibly just a pair of brothers on the road.

"Yeah." Atli checks behind and in front and behind again, and starts to slide into his brother's arms anyway. Feeling for the tail wrapped around his arm, he shoves it into his back pocket, trying to keep his hand steady and avoid setting his wand off.

"I mean," Torgrim says, spelling the lock open with a hand on the wand still in his back pocket, "if anyone treated you like that, bondmate or not, I'd've killed him." His hand comes back, nearly lifting Atli off the floor when it takes his hip. "And then I'd inherit you anyway."

"Not these days." It's old magic, that. Although come to think of it, Atli's not sure who dismantled those old charms. If anyone ever set them up to start with.

"I'd hide you away till you went into heat, then. Make sure we ended up together. Couldn't let anybody treat _you_ like that—would you like it, though? If I treated you like that? Say you would?"

"I would," Atli says truthfully. It's been on his mind all the way upstairs. That's not supposed to happen these days. But it's in all the best porn. And nobody felt like stopping it. Not even him, and he should've been the most interested one in the whole place. He's pressed against the wall now, and he likes it.

"Just a bit," his brother promises, squeezing his thigh. "Just a little bit."

It was three weeks before they had sex outside heat, after his life first turned into this. Torgrim skipped Transfiguration, and he skipped a seminar on Caste Relations that everyone gets shoved into around fifteen or so, and Torgrim came into the sixth-year dorms and sucked his cock in bed. Which was incredibly stupid, but they were lucky. He was still there when the others came back, but no one saw anything strange about them skipping together. And of course Atli's brother would come by to cheer him up about probably being a Beta. No wonder he skipped, when the whole class is about being an Alpha in modern society.

Sex is different when you're not on your heat. Without the pheromones, there's no knot to think about. You can even play around with Betas if you haven't bonded yet. If you have, it gets ugly—even Omegas can get territorial enough to fight.

Heats, though. On heats, Atli doesn't think about his prick at all. Instead of rubbing against Torgrim's hand he spreads his legs, trying to press his entrance forward. Presenting himself for the taking. His robes are starting to feel like thick, heavy wool. Torgrim laughs and pinches the back of his thigh, then pulls him off the wall and toward the bed.

Knowing from experience that they have a few minutes left of clearheadedness, Atli arranges himself on his back, to a pleased sound from Torgrim. He tests the mattress with an elbow and finds it acceptable. Mattresses were never so interesting in the first sixteen years of his life. Since the middle of his sixth year at Durmstrang, he's found out that there's a marked difference between "comfortable" to sleep on—rolling and turning where necessary—and "comfortable" to be pinned down on for several hours at a time. Establishments don't like having their things Transfigured by guests, and a lot of these rooms are filled with cheap stuff made to be destroyed in the throes of pleasure.

Or the throes of whatever.

"Should we have said something back there? I mean..." He hesitates, still up on one elbow. "Alphas aren't supposed to act like that, anymore."

"You're so _tough_ ," Torgrim says with satisfaction. "That's why it bothers you. You're not like regular Omegas, you don't want anybody pushing you around. Lucky you've got me—Oh, right—" A pillow blooms under Atli's head, first as a pair of blinders on the sides and then fluffing up in the middle, as his brother remembers the spell belatedly. "But it's nothing to get embarrassed over. Not with me. Just how you're built."

It's a nice pillow. His brother pays attention to everything that makes a heat comfortable.

"But you know—we know. That it's nicer not being like that."

"Don't make a target of yourself. Over some Omega you don't even know? You have no idea how good you smell when you're like this."

"You'd back me up," Atli says, caught up in the fantasy of it for a second. They haven't dueled together in so long. Then the fantasy slips. "Wouldn't you?"

"Of course, of course." A quick squeeze of his arm. "No one likes seeing something like that. Not when it gets really bad. But don't jump in before you have to. You know, you're so—anyway, you're still in school!" Torgrim takes his face in both hands. "Keep your head down. Don't get yourself held back for kicking someone's head in over a stranger."

"I'm not talking about starting a revolution." Atli reaches up to tug on the little soul patch starting to grow under his brother's lower lip. "Besides, maybe I'd be the one getting hurt." A snort tells him all Torgrim has to say about that. It's nice being believed in. "Am I?" He spreads his legs, shifting his pelvis up invitingly. "Going to get hurt?"

"Just a little bit," Torgrim reminds him. "I mean, since you were _made_ for me to fuck—and you like it, anything I do to you—" His mouth's hanging open a bit, with his tongue showing prominently, and his eyes are shining.

In between his heats, Atli spends a fair amount of time jerking off to the memory of heats gone by. What he can remember of them. He never likes thinking of the noises he makes, though. It always feels like they'll come out again if he imagines them. Moaning like a whore. Like a wizard who'd take anyone right now as long as they shove a cock inside him. Thank fucking Odin it's his big brother who always gets to him first. If a single sound ever slipped out of the Silencing charm on his bed, he'd honestly rather die than look his roommates in the eye again.

He's making those sounds now, and he's making them because his brother has no idea what it's like being an Omega all of a sudden, surrounded by your Alpha and Beta friends as your heat creeps closer and closer. Torgrim thinks about what that means, and he's scared by it in his own way, and he does everything to keep the worst from happening. But he doesn't feel it the way Atli does. He can't. He's just there, every time, to fit inside and make it go away till the next heat. And that's exactly what fixes everything.

"Sometimes I think," Torgrim says, leaning over him and lifting his robes to the waist, "I think you go into heat on purpose so I have to cancel a job and rush down here to spend all night up your arse."

They're both leaking. Atli's been lubricating since his brother's voice hit him like a brick wall in the lobby, but the pad in his pants has been taking the brunt of it. Now he's struggling to get his pants down while his brother holds his arms to the mattress. His back arches up and he can't get the words out to say, _Please, please start._

"Wonder what you're going to do if you cost me a promotion," Torgrim says, tracing a thumb over his hip bone just above the waist band of his pants. He's still not close enough, his smell is suffocatingly distant. "After all I do for you."

"Be your sex toy forever, I guess." Atli's eyes roll back in his head and his chin lifts helplessly, more from the thought than the squeeze at his hip.

"Ooh, I like that. On your knees when I get home, with your mouth ready. Show me that pretty face. That's it, love."

It's hard to believe this isn't some kind of curse. One that turns Atli's muscles into water and melts his brain into putty. He knows he'd be like this for anyone who grabbed him and squeezed hard enough during a heat. But it's his brother plays with him first. Laughs at him for wanting it so badly, but only because they both do—so badly. It was Torgrim who begged for it the first time, after all.

"Here we go," Torgrim says, opening him up, much more easily than that fumbling time they came together ten months ago.

The act itself is never what Atli thinks about later. It's hard to remember most of it. He's empty. Then his brother fills him. The whole world is perfect as he slowly drifts back to a half conscious state, his brain dull with pleasure. It might as well be sleepwalking.

The exact moment the knot grows into him does stand out, every once in a while, but usually he's only aware of it afterwards. He can roll his hips around a bit, feeling it press against his oversensitive inner walls, and sometimes he comes a second time during the hours they're lying knotted together. Torgrim says he doesn't feel anything extra once he's come the first time, but he likes seeing Atli enjoy himself. Must be something biological to keep the knot from going off again and getting people stuck together from days on end.

The cum splattered on Torgrim's belly is thinner than his usual stuff, and the cum being held inside him right now is much thicker than Torgrim's usual. There's a lot of it, all set off by smelling his heat pheromones. His brother's scent will cover any lingering heat signs on him for a few days. Nobody at school will wonder about that. They've always been close.

"I'm gonna get you _so_ pregnant," Torgrim says tenderly.

"Thanks," Atli says, absently. He hasn't thought too hard about that part. It's hard to imagine. This feels good and it's the only thing they _can_ do. It's that simple. He'll like it once it happens, probably. This was new ten months ago, and he can't help liking this.

"I bet it's twins first. We were practically twins. You've got all that stored up inside you." He touches Atli's hand suddenly. "I'll get you a job once you've had a few. Your heats'll calm down then."

Atli's arms are limp and useless as long as the knot's inside him. It's not that he can't feel Torgrim touch his hand. It just feels strange. Like being in a Full Body-Bind, or a dream. "Sit up and let us see your tits."

"Oh, all right!" Torgrim says pettishly. "If that's what you're thinking about."

"I want three today. You had all your fun. Gimme something nice to look at."

"Maybe once you've had a few kids you'll be able to appreciate a little conversation."

"When I'm old and you're finished getting me pregnant, you mean. You won't have anything left to talk about."

Somewhere out there that other Omega's probably getting fucked too. At home, or maybe in a place like this. Maybe he's liking it and maybe he isn't. Meanwhile Atli's seventeen, and his cock's standing up again, against the slight bulge of his brother's lower gut. No knot's ever going to swell out of its base, no matter how hard it gets. He was made to get fucked and hold in his brother's knot until it's ready to let him go.

Two months to go until he graduates. Doesn't matter much if he gets pregnant now.

Torgrim's playing around with his cock. He presented at a normal age, so his own has always swelled up round the base when it gets hard. He thinks it's a great novelty touching one that doesn't.

"Don't touch it too much. I want to save that for the third."

"Well, don't _you_ ask me to drag you and your empty balls back to the castle. Some of us've got work in the morning."

Atli rolls his hips from side to side, feeling the thrill that shoots all the way to his balls. Torgrim's grumbling, but he's got his shoulders pulled back so his chest stands out. It's hard to see his chest hair at this distance, but little glints of gold light stand out where the lamp catches them just right. There and on his arms and belly, where the splatter of Atli's cum shines wetly.

Tongue sticking out between his teeth, Atli starts to roll his lower back toward his second orgasm of the night. "I'll manage." 

They will.

They'll manage.


End file.
